


Forbidden Magic

by pandoras_chaos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Adultery, Festivals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandoras_chaos/pseuds/pandoras_chaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry stumbles upon his wife’s romance novel, he doesn’t quite know what to make of the fact that she’s clearly reading gay porn. It’s not until he meets the author of the novel that he truly appreciates the literary genius.<br/>Written for a festival I don't even know how long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forbidden Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for I'm-not-even-sure-which-festival I don't even know how long ago. Special thanks to scarletcurls and aki-hoshi for the quick and dirty beta.

Harry Potter sighed and stared around at his disaster of a living room. He’d finally managed to get James down for naptime after a long and epic battle involving quite a bit of screaming and crying. Vanquishing Dark Lords had nothing on single-handedly raising an eighteen-month-old. Harry smiled ruefully at the pile of books, Quidditch magazines and butterbeer bottles scattered across the coffee table. It was bad enough having to clean up after his son, much less his godson. Really, at eight years old, Teddy should know better than to leave his possessions lying all over the house.

 

Harry sighed again, pondered briefly if excessive sighing was cause for a stint in St. Mungos, and began to tidy the house. If Ginny came home to the house in uproar, he had no doubt there’d be another spectacular row about her Big Important Job versus his Menial Little Housework.

 

After Harry had conquered Lord Voldemort, he had thought briefly about joining the Auror Ranks. According to Kinsley Shacklebolt, he still had an open invitation should he choose to use it. For now, he was content to stay at home and raise the family he’d fought for.

 

He’d married Ginny just two years after Voldemort fell. She’d gone back to Hogwarts to finish her seventh year, but he had turned down the invitation to sit his NEWTs with the rest of his class. Instead, he’d completed them via owl post. Something about sitting in the classrooms of Hogwarts, staring at the place where Fred’s body had lain next to Remus and Tonks in the Great Hall, just being anywhere near the scene of so much destruction and grief made Harry’s stomach churn.

 

It was as he shifted an overflowing pile of old _Prophets_ that a small paperback novel fell to the floor with a clatter. He glanced briefly at it before realizing it was one of Ginny’s preferred romance novels. Or at least, that’s what _he_ called them. According to his wife they were “tasteful erotica” and absolutely not to be mocked. Harry snorted to himself and picked up the fallen book. It had landed face down and a few pages had been bent back. Telling himself he was only smoothing out the creases, Harry glanced at the words, snorting again when the phrase “epic erection” presented itself forward. How could Ginny read this shit?

 

He was just about to toss the book aside again when the picture on the inside cover caught his attention. He’d seen romance novels before: Hermione frequently read them at school as stress relief. Instead of the classic picture of airbrushed females in ridiculous over stylized bodices arching towards the stereotypical kilted Scottish warrior, to Harry’s surprise, he found himself staring at two rather fit men tangled in what was obviously a heated snog. It took him a moment to realize that this novel was obviously written by a wizard as the cover art was moving. The two men writhed against each other and, as he watched, the man with dark hair’s hand crept downward to grab a handful of firm blonde arse.

 

Several startling things happened at once. The blonde man in the photo arched backwards, teeth bared, just as Harry was wondering why on earth his wife was reading gay porn—because that’s _exactly_ what it was—while simultaneously trying to suppress the rush of irrational desire that was making his cock swell at an alarming rate. And the Floo flared up.

 

Harry let out a distinctly unmanly yelp and quickly stuffed the novel into the basket of laundry he’d been transporting to his bedroom. Ginny stumbled in through the fireplace a moment later, grumbling loudly at the state of the living room. Harry dashed into their bedroom as quietly as he could, trying hard not to wake up James. He could hear Ginny’s tired footsteps moving along the corridor, pausing to peruse the pile of mail on the end table. Making a quick decision, Harry stuffed the novel under his side of the mattress for later perusal and readied himself to greet his wife.

 

::

 

It wasn’t until much later that evening, when he was sure Ginny was asleep, that Harry dared pull the novel out from under the mattress. Making sure not to wake his wife, Harry eased himself out of bed and tiptoed off to the loo. Feeling utterly ridiculous, he lowered the seat cover and sat on the toilet, finally taking a good look at the book he’d been thinking about all afternoon. He snickered at the title: “Forbidden Magic”, but opened the book nonetheless.

 

After skimming the first few chapters, Harry’s bum was going numb and he’d rolled his eyes enough times to sprain the muscles in his face. The story seemed to centre around two male characters: Luc and Evan. Luc was the epitome of every gay man’s fantasy. He had silky blonde hair, a wicked sense of humour, all the sex appeal anyone could ask for and a penchant for tight leather trousers. His only weakness seemed to be Evan—the classic man he could never have. Luc kept doing more and more outlandish things to attract Evan’s attention, finally culminating in a spectacular striptease at the end of chapter three, but to no avail. Evan wanted nothing to do with him.

 

Harry scoffed and looked at his watch, realizing he’d been reading for nearly an hour. Shaking his head and laughing, he left the book amidst the others lining up against the sink and went back to bed.

 

When Harry woke up in the morning, he had the strange impression his dreams had been plagued with a vaguely familiar blonde man calling out his name, but by the time he got out of bed, he couldn’t recall his dreams at all.

 

::

 

Harry was rolling his red trolley through the aisles of Waitrose when he next thought of the romance novel. Perhaps it was James’ latest bid for freedom out of the Snuggly contraption Harry had slung across his shoulders, or maybe it was the particularly phallic shape of the zucchinis in the produce section, but as Harry rounded the corner, he ran headlong into another trolley.

 

“Shit. Sorry,” Harry murmured, trying to simultaneously get James to stop fussing and pick up his fallen Heinz beans.

 

“Potter?”

 

Harry’s head shot up, knocking against the corner of his trolley. He swore loudly and blinked up at the smirking face of Draco Malfoy.

 

“Malfoy. What the bloody hell are you doing in a muggle grocery?”

 

“Nice to see you too, Potter,” Malfoy nodded toward his trolley. “And I should think that was obvious. I’m shopping, of course.”

 

Harry eyed him dubiously, but he decided to play along regardless. “Alright Malfoy. How’ve you been?”

 

Malfoy snickered and rolled his eyes skyward. “I’ve been bloody brilliant, Potter.”

 

There was an uncomfortable silence in which Harry tried not to notice the way Malfoy’s slightly receding hairline accented his features rather than depleting them and Malfoy continued to smirk idly at him. Finally Malfoy rolled his eyes again and made to move his cart forward.

 

“Well, Potter. This was remarkably satisfying,” Malfoy said, dripping sarcasm.

 

“Er…” Harry tried.

 

“Eloquent as always. See you around, Harry.” And Malfoy pushed his trolley onward, leaving Harry feeling slightly put-out and thinking inexplicably about the inside cover of that novel.

 

It wasn’t until he was checking out that Harry realized Malfoy had called him by his first name.

 

::

 

Hank, the barman at the Weeping Wombat nodded to Harry as he came in for his weekly fish and chips with Ron. The pub was a new favourite of Harry’s. There was always some kind of greasy fried food that went excellently with a good stout and enough ruckus to cover a bawdy comment or two from Ron.

 

There was a football match on the muggle televisions tonight and Harry amused himself watching the crowd jeer and cheer for their teams. Harry was already two drinks in when he saw an unmistakable flash of blonde hair. He felt a strange jerk behind his navel, almost like he’d just touched a portkey. He chose to ignore this in favour of glaring at his watch. Ron was late.

 

Another beer in and he decided it was time to order some food. Hank shuffled over with his chips and a message from Ron, scribbled on the back of a paper napkin. According to the note, Ron was unable to come due to “circumstances at work” meaning he was hot on the trail of his latest inquiry. Harry doused his chips in vinegar in retaliation and resigned himself to a lonely dinner.

 

Unwillingly, his gaze kept wandering towards Malfoy, who seemed entirely engrossed in his work. Unnoticed by the rowdy muggle crowd, Harry spotted a Quick-Quotes Quill zooming back and forth over a piece of semi-concealed parchment on the bench just beyond Malfoy’s left thigh. Harry snorted and wondered just how much trouble he could get the smarmy git into if he reported this to the Ministry. His gaze focused on the thigh in question and he couldn’t help but notice how the muscles bunched up just under the fine wool. His fingers itched to touch the fabric and he wondered idly how those muscles would feel quivering under his touch.

 

Shaking his head slightly, Harry realized he’d obviously had too much to drink. If he was noticing things like the way Malfoy’s trousers clung to his thighs or the way his necktie kissed the small open gap in his shirt collar, he was clearly cracking up.  Inexplicably, the romance novel’s inside cover kept floating to the front of Harry’s mind and he vaguely wondered if Hank had spiked his drink. Beating back the sudden and unwanted images of tugging Malfoy’s tie towards him and latching his mouth onto Harry’s, Harry tossed a few notes onto the table and was just about to leave when Malfoy sidled up to him, a larger in one hand and a basket of chips in the other.

 

“My my Potter; did your date stand you up?”

 

Harry was absolutely not in the mood, especially because that small patch of pale skin just at Malfoy’s throat was distracting him to the point of idiocy. “Sod off, Malfoy,” he growled, standing up a bit too quickly and stumbling slightly.

 

“Language, Potter,” Malfoy smirked. “We wouldn’t want the muggles to think something is amiss.”

 

Harry gave him a two-fingered salute and tried to coax his wobbly legs into putting one foot in front of the other. They apparently weren’t in a cooperative mood, however, because he over stepped the bench and went crashing into Malfoy, sloping half the contents of his larger directly onto the front of those damned wool trousers.

 

“Potter, Jesus! How much have you had?” Malfoy asked, abandoning his chips to the table in order to steady Harry, who couldn’t help but notice how strong Malfoy’s hands felt against his sides.

 

“Dunno,” Harry croaked his voice thick. “Ron’s not here.”

 

Malfoy’s eyebrows contracted. “So this is Weasley’s fault, is it?”

 

“S’not his fault,” Harry muttered, leaning closer into Malfoy’s hands, “He’s just busy.”

 

Malfoy snickered and slid his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry tried hard not to arch into the touch, but feared he failed miserably. Especially since Malfoy’s grin seemed to widen. “Yes, well. I’ll be having a bit of a chat with Weasley. Can you stand on your own for just a minute? I’ll get my things together and then Apparate you home.”

 

Harry nodded, but it made his head hurt, so he just winced and stood as still as he could. Malfoy gathered his Quill, threw some muggle notes onto his table and packed away the parchment into a wide and expensive looking briefcase. Moving forward, he grabbed Harry’s wrist and dragged his arm over his shoulders, situating himself under Harry’s arm and far too close in Harry’s opinion.

 

Malfoy managed to get Harry out of the pub with no further incident, although there were some rather bawdy comments thrown at them from the crowd seated just beside the door. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy just chuckled and continued to manhandle Harry out into the street.

 

Rounding the corner, he leaned Harry up against the side of the pub and slipped from beneath his arm. Harry made a disgruntled sound, which just made Malfoy chuckle further.

 

“Alright, Potter. Where do you live?”

 

“Number 12 Grimmauld Place,” Harry murmured, pulling a startled Malfoy forward and burying his face into Malfoy’s collar. “You smell good.”

 

“Potter, what are you doing?”

 

“You smell good,” Harry repeated and licked a slow trail up the side of Draco’s neck, making him shudder. He heard the briefcase drop somewhere at his side.

 

“This isn’t a good idea,” Draco whispered, clutching at Harry’s shoulders.

 

“I don’t care.” Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips against Draco’s. Malfoy whimpered and pushed further into Harry, effectively trapping him against the brick at his back. Harry slid his tongue along Draco’s bottom lip and felt Malfoy shiver in response, opening his mouth immediately and thrusting his tongue against Harry’s. Draco tasted like vinegar from the chips and cheap larger, but to Harry it was the most perfect thing he’d ever tasted.

 

Draco pushed Harry backwards, their hips aligning into a perfect grind-thrust rhythm. Harry tilted his head back against the blessedly cool brick and rocked his hips forwards, his only thought focused on bringing Malfoy off as loudly as possible. He’d never felt anything this good. He could feel Draco’s cock digging painfully into his thigh, but Harry didn’t care. Feeling drunkenly bold, Harry slid his hand down Malfoy’s flat torso and into his trousers. Malfoy gasped, his hips stilling for only a moment before he ground them forcefully against Harry’s hand.

 

It was a very different feeling, having someone else’s cock filling your palm, Harry thought, but not an unpleasant one. He squeezed slightly and felt Draco shudder again, his cock seeming to swell and harden under his touch. Harry grinned lazily and pressed his fingers into the slit in the front of Malfoy’s pants, wanting to feel the hot flesh against his own.

 

Malfoy bit his lip and moaned, his head falling limply onto Harry’s shoulder while he continued to rock into Harry’s stroking hand.

 

“Come for me,” Harry growled into Draco’s ear, and Malfoy didn’t disappoint. With a mighty tremor, Draco froze, his mouth open in a silent scream against Harry’s neck and Harry felt his fingers sliding through sudden wetness, Malfoy’s cock jerking rhythmically into his fist.

 

“Christ,” Harry whispered, still squeezing Malfoy’s cock and feeling his come ooze between his fingers. Malfoy chuckled weakly and propped himself up against the wall, dislodging Harry’s hand in the process.

 

Harry stared at the viscous fluid on his hand, rubbing it between his fingers. “Take me home, Draco,” he whispered.

 

Draco nodded and pulled up his zip.

 

::

 

Ginny was asleep when Harry came home, which was probably a good thing. He crept silently up the stairs and checked briefly on James, who was sleeping soundly in his crib, before creeping as quietly as he could to the bathroom. He cast a hasty Silencing Charm before practically tearing off his trousers and shoving his hand down his pants. Christ, Malfoy looked beautiful when he came. Harry couldn’t get the image of him writhing against his hand as he palmed his cock in quick strokes. Harry’s eyes lingered on the spine of the romance novel on the counter as he came, Draco’s name on his lips.

 

Harry’s legs were wobbling so badly, he sat quickly on the covered toilet. He was still a bit buzzed; although admittedly a spectacular orgasm had sobered him up quite a bit. The fact that he’d had Malfoy’s cock in his hand not thirty minutes ago should have set of huge warning bells, but instead it made him shudder with renewed lust.

 

Did this mean he was gay? Sure, Harry had noticed other men before. It was easy to admit someone was attractive without admitting you were attracted _to_ them. Something about Malfoy nagged at the back of his brain, though. He’d always had an unnatural obsession with Draco, even back in school.

 

Harry’s eyes strayed again towards the romance novel and on a whim, he picked it up and thumbed open the pages.

 

About halfway through the book, Harry’s mind was whirling and his jaw was set. He had to see Malfoy.

 

::

 

It was still dark when Harry scribbled a note to Ginny and left it on the kitchen table telling her he was going to stay with Dean and Seamus for the night and that she needn’t worry. Hopefully, he’d have time to tip them off before she got the chance to interrogate them. He had a niggling twist of guilt in the pit of his stomach as he fastened his cloak about his shoulders, but brushed it off for now.

 

Harry knew where Draco lived these days thanks to Ron complaining about it every chance he had. After the war ended, Draco had been placed in Azkaban for a grand total of six weeks before he was cleared and sent home. As an Auror, it was unfortunately Ron’s job to check up on all the former Death Eaters periodically to make sure they weren’t planning anything dubious. Harry had gotten an earful after Draco Malfoy had shown up on Ron’s list and he’d had Malfoy’s address ingrained into his mind ever since.

 

With deliberate ease, Harry Apparated to the street lined with flats just off the Angel tube stop. He discreetly pulled out his wand and unlocked the front gate, feeling the wards shimmer as he passed through them.

 

Before he could even lift his hand to knock, the door swung open and Malfoy stood in the doorframe. His feet were bare and his hair was tousseled, as though he’d just thrown on a pair of denims in his haste to reach the door on time. He took one look at Harry and smirked, leaning casually up against the door frame and crossing his arms.

 

“Can I help you, Potter?”

 

Harry scowled for a moment before thrusting his hand into his robe and pulling out the slightly battered novel. Draco’s eyes widened slightly.

 

“Did you write this?” Harry demanded, refusing to be distracted by the pale strip of skin showing between Malfoy’s low-riding denims and the bottom of his shirt. Harry longed to run his tongue down the trail of just-visible blonde hair that lead down to what Harry knew was his very sizable cock.

 

“What on earth gave you that impression?” Draco asked, stiffening somewhat, but remaining infuriatingly calm.

 

“This character, Luc,” Harry nearly shouted, taking a few steps forward and shoving the book towards Draco, “He’s blonde.”

 

“Do keep your voice down, Potter,” Draco snapped. “It’s nearly half-three. Are you _trying_ to wake half the town?”

 

“I don’t bloody well care!”

 

Harry could practically hear Draco’s teeth grinding as he stepped forward and forcefully yanked Harry through the front door. “Jesus, Potter. Do you want to get me evicted?”

 

“This book, Malfoy. Did you write it?”

 

Draco lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow—the twat probably plucked them daily. What a ponce. “Again Potter, why would you think I wrote this piece of literary shit? Your only bit of evidence thus far seems to be that the main character’s hair is blonde.”

 

Harry could feel his face turning red, but his eyes narrowed. “How did you know Luc is the main character?”

 

Draco’s other eyebrow rose to match the first. “I only assumed that since you’re thrusting a book at me and going on about a character, he must be the main in question. Or was I mistaken?”

 

Harry could feel his flush seeping down to his neck. “The other character—Evan...”

 

“What about him?” Malfoy asked, leaning his back against the now-closed front door.

 

“He’s got messy dark hair and green eyes.”

 

“And? Surely you don’t think you’re the only person in the world with those particular features?”

 

“And he’s got a freckle on his upper lip, just like mine,” Harry said as he sidled closer to Draco, the book forgotten. Draco’s lips quirked into what might have been the beginnings of a smile.

 

“So? Are you accusing me of writing cheap romance novels to fulfill my wicked fantasies about the Boy Who Lived?”

 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Harry whispered, leaning closer and tonguing the spot right below Draco’s ear, making the other man shiver.

 

“What if I told you I knew the story quite well?” Draco whispered back, sliding his hands into Harry’s hair and biting down on his bottom lip.

 

“I’d say there’s an interesting scenario on page 214 that I might be willing to try.” Harry slid is tongue across Draco’s for a moment before murmuring, “Which way to your bedroom, Luc?”

 

::

 

Harry woke up the next morning to a pleasant rocking sensation. He smiled sleepily before reaching back and catching hold of the cock jabbing into his thigh. Looking back over his shoulder, he could see that Draco was still very much asleep. Harry knew he should get dressed and leave before things became even more complicated. Ginny was going to have his ballocks for sleeping away from the house as it was. Instead, however, he began stroking Draco’s cock in tight little jerks.

 

“Potter,” Malfoy groaned sleepily, “What are you doing?”

 

“It’s Harry. And I should think that was obvious.” Harry rolled onto his back and moved his arm around to take a firmer grip on Draco’s prick.

 

Malfoy groaned again, his hips speeding up the slow wank. “ _Potter_. If you don’t stop…”

 

“ _Harry_. I have no intention of stopping.”

 

 _“Harry…”_ Draco whispered against his mouth and kissed him.

 

“Draco,” Harry muttered, trailing his tongue up the side of Malfoy’s neck and nibbling lightly on his ear. Draco groaned again and his hips sped up. “I want you to fuck me.”

 

Draco froze. “What did you say?”

 

Harry kissed his ear lightly before pulling back to look him squarely in the eye. “I said I want you to fuck me. Draco.”

 

Draco’s eyes dilated and he uttered a subconscious huff of air. “On your knees then,” he clipped, betraying his calm with the slight tremor in his voice. Harry hastened to comply, rolling over and propping himself up on his knees.

 

Draco fished around in the sheets for the small vial of oil they had hastily discarded last night, finally locating it and wrenching the stopper off the top. Coating his fingers, he slid them up and down the crease in Harry’s arse.

 

Harry moaned and arched backwards, trying to figure out why he’d never bothered to try this before. Draco’s fingers felt like fire trailing up and down his crack, coming so close to breaching him before moving off down to rub against his balls.

 

“Draco,” Harry ground out through his teeth. Draco smirked and pushed his first finger into Harry’s arse.

 

Draco’s fingers moved steadily in and out of Harry and every once and a while, he’d make a disgruntled little noise and twist again. Harry was wondering just what he was getting worked up over when Draco’s fingers brushed over something that made sparks shoot up his spine.

 

Harry gasped and his eyes, which had been riding half-mast at best, shot open. Draco grinned like the cat with the fucking cream and purposefully rubbed that spot again. Harry seemed to be holding his breath, but he expelled it with a quiet “Fuck.”

 

“Precisely,” Draco replied, quickening his pace and watching Harry grind his wet cock into the sheets.

 

“Fuck, Draco. I want you in me,” Harry huffed.

 

Draco smirked again and withdrew his fingers, making Harry shudder and whinge in response. Harry felt something much larger than Draco’s fingers and almost ungodly hot brush up against his arse. With carefully slow movements, Draco slid the first inch into Harry. Harry arched up against him, the brief moment of pain overwhelmed by the feeling of incredible fullness.

 

“Jesus, Harry,” Draco whispered and slid another few inches in. “Christ, you’re tight.”

 

Harry moaned in response and shoved his arse backwards, effectively thrusting himself onto Draco’s cock and causing Draco’s hips to snap forward in response. Harry moaned again, burying his face into the pillow to stop the noises coming from his mouth. Draco’s hands moved from Harry’s shoulders to his hips and he angled his cock up to hit Harry’s prostate with every stroke. Draco began thrusting into him in earnest, slamming his hips forward and making the headboard shake.

 

Harry’s orgasm ripped through him without warning causing him to clench hard around Draco’s cock. His knees collapsed beneath him and as Draco pounded harder, rushing toward his own completion, Harry’s cock smeared come all over the sheets beneath him.

 

Draco stiffened suddenly, his cock bursting into Harry’s now-stretched hole, a small whimper escaping his perfect lips. Harry smiled into the pillow and whispered, “Yes.”

 

::

 

Harry shuffled in through the back door to see his wife sitting at the kitchen table, a half-empty tea cup near her elbow and a brand new book in her lap.

 

“Oh, you’re home,” was her greeting, glancing up from her book and taking a sip of the undoubtedly cold tea.

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied uneasily. He moved to sit and thought better of it. His arse was still rather sore. “What are you reading?”

 

“The new novel in my erotica series,” Ginny said her face brightening as she held up the book. “It’s really rather good. You might like them if you tried, you know.”

 

Harry smiled quietly to himself. “Yeah, I might do.”


End file.
